


Spies, Lies and Family Ties

by DizzyDrea



Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Secrets, Romance, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some truths are so carefully buried that not even the best 00 agent on Her Majesty's Secret Service can find them. James Bond has always been better than the best, but even he's taken off guard by the secret he's just uncovered. Then again, he's always believed that Ms. Moneypenny is more than she appears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been hanging around on my hard drive since this summer. As such, it's not canon-compliant with the latest film, so consider this AU, if you will. Still, it's an idea that I've been toying with all summer. It's based on the idea that James Bond is an alias that all 007s use (which would explain why so many different men have been Bond over the years), and that the same holds true for Ms. Moneypenny. I blame an overactive imagination, and a love of Bond films developed over many years (thanks to my father, who first introduced me to the dashing secret agent). Sean Connery will forever be Bond to me, but the Bond I imagined for this one was Daniel Craig. I'm not sure if I'm done playing with this idea; it opens up so many possibilities that have a lot of potential. But for now, enjoy this one.
> 
> Disclaimer: James Bond at all its particulars is the property of Ian Flemming, Albert and Barbara Broccoli, MGM, Eon Productions and a lot of other people who aren't me. I'm doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

"The pictures are all there," Jane said as M turned the flash drive over in her hand. "I think it’s fairly obvious what’s been going on. I suppose the next step is really up to you."

"Yes"” M said, the disappointed tone of her voice clear. She speared Jane with a look. "You’re alright with your part in this?"

Uncovering a potential double-agent was never fun, but if Jane had ever had reservations about the work she’d done for MI6, she’d have retired ages ago. Still, it was so like M to be worried about her. She often forgot just where Jane’s knowledge of tradecraft came from.

"I’m fine, ma’am," she said, ghosting a smile. "Besides, someone has to root out the bad apples. I’m just glad the bastard will get what’s coming to him."

"Ms. Bond," M said repressively.

Jane only gave a cheeky smile.

"Your father would be proud of you," M offered quietly, her own pride dancing in her eyes.

"I hope so," Jane said quietly. She knew her parents had wanted so much more for her than what this life could offer, but she also knew she couldn't run away from her birthright. She hoped rather than knew that M's words were true.

A noise from the doorway caught both women’s attention. Jane turned in her chair to see a rather surprised-looking 007 glancing between them as he tried to sort out what he’d likely just heard.

M stood up, taking charge of the situation as she always did. "That will be all, Ms. Moneypenny."

"Ma’am," Jane said, nodding to the other woman as she stood. She passed the still-gaping agent on her way out, sparing him a tight smile as she went.

Closing the door behind her, she leaned back and gave a heavy sigh. So not how she’d imagined that moment would go.

In point of fact, she had imagined that moment never happening at all. Her identity was secret for good reason, and even a 00 agent on Her Majesty’s Secret Service didn’t have a need to know.

Now, she had to face the fact that James Bond knew who she truly was.

She spared a moment to remember how he’d looked. Sandy hair and those fierce blue eyes looking at her like he’d never seen her before. It was so different than the last time, and for a second, she mourned the loss.

Then, Jane Moneypenny did the only thing she could in that moment: she ran.

~o~

"Mr. Bond, did no one teach you it’s impolite to eavesdrop?"

James sauntered into the room, dropping into the chair recently vacated by M’s assistant. Or perhaps, he frowned, not really her assistant after all. It would explain the sudden appearance of Villiers in the outer office. Moneypenny could always be counted on for a few moments’ diverting conversation—calm in the eye of the storm—but lately he’d found her absent more often than not. He’d tried to let the disappointment go; she had a job to do as much as he did, and while he didn’t know what that job entailed, he’d always suspected she was more than a mere secretary.

"So, when were you going to tell me, M?" he asked, ignoring his boss’ question. He was paid to eavesdrop; it’s what made a 00 agent good at the job.

M settled back into her chair, giving him an appraising look. He tried not to flinch under the intensity of the stare. She’d intimidated far greater men than he, but he prided himself on being the consummate agent, unflappable in all circumstances. If he couldn’t withstand a little staring contest with the Minister, he probably ought to turn in his license to kill.

"Never, in point of fact," she said, sighing heavily.

He ghosted a smile at his small victory. "And now that I know?"

"You’ll not tell a single soul," she said sharply, her eyes spearing his once more. "The secrecy of Jane’s true identity is of paramount importance to the Crown."

James held his hand up. "Agreed. But that still doesn’t answer my question."

"It’s not my story to tell, Mr. Bond," she said evasively.

He could see the years on her face now, made more obvious by the import of this conversation. He had no idea why she was still resisting, but he wasn’t one to give up easily. A dog on a bone, his old friend Felix Leiter might have said.

"Not good enough."

M smiled, that predatory smile that always gave him a shiver, as her mood shifted with lightening speed. "Then I suggest you find Ms. Moneypenny and ask her. If, that is, you can find her."

He could recognize a challenge when he heard one. Flashing that charming smile that never failed to get him whatever he wanted, he leaned forward. "And I suppose you’d know where to start."

"I can guess," she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice as if she were telling a secret. "But you're the 00 agent. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

James leaned back, considering the challenge in her tone. She seemed to be enjoying her advantage, which appeared to be a considerable one. Shrugging internally, he rose and looked down at her as she leaned back in her chair.

"I’ve managed to unearth more elusive quarry before," he said dismissively. "I’m sure I can find one wayward secretary."

M chuckled without humor. "Just you keep thinking that way, Mr. Bond."

He regarded her coolly for a moment more, but when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to offer anything else, he nodded and turned for the door.

"Oh, and Mr. Bond?"

He turned, his hand on the knob. "Yes?"

"I’ll still expect your report on my desk tomorrow, first thing."

Of course she would. "Yes, ma’am."

Then he turned and walked through the door.

The outer office was empty, no sign of Ms. Moneypenny, nor any indication of where she might have gone. He thought about tracking down Villiers, but thought better of it. Either he was on her side and unlikely to give him what he wanted, or he was ignorant of the true identity of the woman he shared an office with. If James were a betting man—and quite often he was—he’d go with the latter. Which meant he’d have to do this the old fashioned way.

A slow smile spread over his face. Whatever else happened, this would be fun.

...continued...


	2. Chapter 2

~o~

The soft breeze coming in from the open doors to the terrace lifted the hem of her skirt, causing it to flutter around her ankles. It was soothing in its familiarity, and made her glad she’d chosen to come home.

And home was always going to be this house, tucked away in the hills of Southern France. Whenever she needed a place to retreat to, this was her first stop. There were memories here—both good and bad—and they kept her grounded when her world threatened to fly apart.

Like now.

Oh, she knew she wasn’t in any real danger. James Bond, 007, could be counted upon to be discreet, and M would have given him the whole "state secrets" speech, so she had no doubt that her secret was still safe. But it was unsettling to know that someone else besides M knew her real name.

She took a deep breath, expecting the hard edge of panic to crowd in on her. Instead, she felt only calm.

It was too true that she’d always had a soft spot for the current 007. M teased her relentlessly about it, and Villiers seemed to have nothing but disdain for the man and therefore her marked preference of him. But sod all, she _liked_ James Bond, and it wasn’t just a family bias.

She heard the unmistakable sound of gravel crunching as someone with heavy feet crossed her terrace. She smiled to herself. So, worth that license to kill after all.

"If you’re going to just stand there, Mr. Bond," she said after a moment, "you might as well make yourself useful."

She heard nothing for the space of a heartbeat, then a low chuckle. "And just how did you know it was me?"

She turned, her heart fluttering at the sight of him, standing in the open terrace doors. He was dressed more casually than normal—khakis and a pale blue polo—and his hands were tucked into his pockets, giving an air of unaffected charm, as if he had all day. And, if he were here, he probably did.

"I have spies," she said with a wicked smile.

He frowned for a moment, then it cleared into smiling understanding. "The children."

She laughed lightly. "They seem to view me as their own. Several of them raced up here to tell me there was a stranger in town, asking after me."

"And after I asked them not to tell," he said, shaking his head. "The little rascals."

"They know which side their bread is buttered on," she said, winking at him.

She was surprised at the ease with which they’d slid into this easy banter of theirs. She’d honestly been expecting an uncomfortable confrontation, awkward in all its glory. But this, this was just as if two friends had met in the town square.

"Well," she said with teasing impatience, "are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to make yourself useful?"

"I am ever at your service, ma’am," he said, executing a sweeping bow. He moved into the kitchen, standing beside her and sniffing appreciatively at the pan she was stirring. "Smells delightful. Is there enough for two?"

"Of course," she said. As soon as Pierrot and his friends had burst into her kitchen with news of a late-day visitor, she’d put extra pancetta in the pan, and some more noodles in the water. They’d have a long conversation ahead of them, and she wanted all the fortification she could get. "Why don’t you drain the noodles and then open a bottle of wine."

"Alright," he said agreeably.

She added the cream to the pan and swirled it around, watching carefully to make sure it didn’t burn as James drained the noodles into the colander in the sink. "Just leave them there. I’ll add them to the sauce when it’s done."

He nodded, then moved to the wine rack in the corner. "What do you fancy this evening?" he asked as he skimmed his eyes over her collection. He pulled out a bottle from near the bottom, examining the label. "Bordeaux, from seven years ago. A very good year. This’ll do nicely."

It figured he’d spot that particular bottle. She hadn’t been saving it, per se, but it wasn’t the sort of wine one drank alone. Unfortunately, she rarely had visitors to her little home, so it sat forlorn in her rack as other bottles came and went. It occurred to her that there was no one she’d rather share it with than him. The thought brought a warm smile to her face.

He pulled two glasses from the rack above the wine, then started pulling drawers open. "Corkscrew?"

"This drawer," she said, pointing to one at the opposite end of the counter.

"Ah."

He expertly popped the cork, sniffing appreciatively at the dark liquid inside. Turning to her, he raised an eyebrow.

"On the terrace tonight, I think," she said in answer to his unspoken question.

He smiled, then took the bottle and glasses outside, returning a moment later. He fetched plates and utensils, setting their table neatly and—she noted with some interest—adjacent to each other instead of across the table.

She quickly finished the pasta, hefting the bowl as he came back into the kitchen. "Grab the bread, will you?"

He dutifully picked up the board holding the bread and its knife, then followed her outside. They settled in silently, him pouring the wine as she served up portions of the pasta and bread. They ate quietly, the only conversation his compliments on the quality of the meal—excellent, he’d proclaimed.

Once the meal had been finished, and the bottle half empty, he leaned back and sipped at his wine, giving her an appraising look. She braced herself for the inquisition.

~o~

"Well, that was an excellent meal," James said as he leaned back and sipped at his wine.

He noted with some amusement that Ms. Moneypenny—no, not Jane Moneypenny, he reminded himself—blushed prettily under the compliment.

"You’re quite welcome," she said.

He stared openly at her for a few heartbeats, trying to remember if he’d ever really seen her. Oh, he’d always flirted mercilessly with her in the office as he waited for M, but that was Ms. Moneypenny in her prim suits and demure chignon.

This woman was something else entirely. Her long strawberry hair flowed in graceful curls around her shoulders. She was wearing a loose white peasant blouse and a long, flowing skirt. All of it was just as effective at hiding the curves of her body, and yet she seemed somehow more feminine like this than she ever had in the armor she normally wore.

Bemused by his own thoughts, he decided to change tack. "So, have you lived here long?" He paused a beat. "I presume this is your home."

"Yes, it is," she said, her own bemused smile peeking out. "It belonged to my mother. She came here after Dad died. To hide, I suppose. Perhaps to heal. I don’t know, but it’s always been home to me."

So much for avoiding that topic.

"Did you know him well?" he asked.

"My father?" At his nod, she tilted her head in thought. "I knew the man, not the legend. I was only a child when he died, so I’ve only my admittedly vague memories and what photos we had. And of course, I’ve heard the stories, but it’s hard to reconcile the man I knew with the legend everyone else remembers. To me, he was just Papa."

"It must be strange, to call another man by your father’s name."

He’d never given it any thought before. Of course, before two weeks ago, he’d never realized that the original James Bond had a daughter, or that he knew her personally.

"Worried I’ll get you two confused?" she asked.

Her cheeky grin pulled an answering one from him. "If you did, I’d be worried."

"Not to worry," she said, shaking her head. "I’ve never resented any of the 007s for bearing my father’s name. It’s a good name, worn by a good man, no matter who he is."

"Very generous of you," he said, raising his glass in salute.

She shrugged. "Not much else I can say. It’s why they didn’t retire the name or the designation. James Bond built a reputation that other men have been able to trade on. If the name keeps them alive, I can’t complain."

"So," he said, edging up to the topic he really wanted to address, "how is it that the demure Ms. Money—well, you’re not really Ms. Moneypenny now, are you? So, Ms. Bond, care to tell me your real name?"

"Not particularly," she said, cringing at his answering frown. "It’s Samantha."

"Samantha," he said, rolling the name around on his tongue. It suited her, like so much else he’d learned in the last hour. "Well, then, Samantha, how is it you came to be a spy?"

"Mum was recalled almost as soon as I went off to college," she said quietly. "Two weeks after my graduation, she was killed on a mission." She took a deep breath. "I was meant to be an English teacher or some such, but as soon as word reached me, I signed up. Against M’s wishes."

"What does our dear Minister have to do with it?"

"She’s my godmother," she said. "Mum asked her to look after me if she ever—"

She broke off, clearly struggling with her emotions.

"I’m sorry," he said, setting his wine glass aside and taking her hand. "I shouldn’t have asked."

"It’s alright," she said, shaking her head. He could see the tears gathering in her eyes, but she stoically pushed on. "M was furious when she found out I’d signed on. Had me recalled from the field and reassigned to her office immediately."

"That sounds like M."

She chuckled a little. "Yes, well, she can’t take the tradecraft out of me. I learned at my parents’ knees. So, I go out when I can, doing surveillance, dead drops for agents afield. Anything that requires an unknown face or circumspect handling. I’m not technically a field agent anymore, so I can get away with a lot."

He nodded, trying to incorporate this new knowledge of her with what he’d thought he knew. Truth was, he felt a little like the rug had been yanked from under him. What sort of spy did that make him if he couldn’t even see through her alias?

"James?" she asked, laying a cool hand on his cheek.

"I’m just wondering how many other details I’ve missed—how many people I’ve ignored when I shouldn’t have—because I made an assumption about them that turned out to be wrong."

"Don’t," she said firmly. "You’re a good agent, James Bond. One of the best there is. But you can’t possibly know everything." He made a face, drawing her words to a stop. "What?"

"I’m not James Bond," he said. "James Bond was another man, and no matter how good I am, I’ll never quite be him. For you or for anyone else."

"Then what shall I call you?"

"Reginald Cantor, at your service," he said, tipping his head and smiling probably the first genuine smile he’d given in a long while.

"It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Cantor," she said kindly. "And you’re wrong. You’re still James Bond, for better or worse. My father would be proud to know you’ve worn his name well."

"Thank you," he said simply.

"Now," she said, sitting up and giving him another cheeky grin. "How are you at washing dishes?"

...continued...


	3. Chapter 3

~o~

They’d spent a pleasant evening finishing off the bottle of Bordeaux and chatting amiably about everything and nothing. He’d asked her questions about her parents; she’d asked about his upbringing in Scotland. It had been lovely.

Reality hit hard when she woke the next morning.

Her spare room was empty, the bed fastidiously made so that the only hint that it had been occupied was the dent in the pillow. He’d been nowhere to be found in the house, small though it was. When she’d gone to the boulangerie for her morning croissant and coffee, her friend the baker had told her that her gentleman caller had already been by, paid for her breakfast and his, and then taken his leave.

She’d been bitterly disappointed, but not at all surprised. She’d harbored a not-so-secret love for her James Bond ever since their first meeting. It was cliché, really. She’d heard the talk in the halls; she knew that each successive Moneypenny fell in love with her James Bond. But having him in her home, sleeping under her roof had made the possibilities seem wide. And she liked to think there was some irony in there: the daughter of the original James Bond falling in love with the man who now wore his alias. Wouldn’t it just be a lovely ending if he’d fallen in love with her?

Too bad James hadn’t gotten the memo.

Jane sighed.

She was back at her desk in M’s office, trying to be content with her lot in life. Villiers had glared at her when she’d walked in after two weeks away, clearly resentful of her sudden disappearance. She’d simply glared back, until he’d relented and asked how her trip had been. He was young, and had no idea that she was an intelligence officer in her own right, but it had still stung, and served as a reminder of everything she’d never have.

"A word, Ms. Moneypenny," M said as she passed Jane’s desk.

Villiers snickered, earning another glare.

She followed her boss into her office, closing the door behind her. When M indicated she should take a seat, she settled into the very same chair she’d been sitting in when it had all started some two weeks ago.

"Is everything alright, dear?" M asked, startling her out of her musings.

If she’d been in the field, she’d be dead by now, she thought ruefully.

"I’m fine, ma’am."

"Cut the crap, Samantha," M said. "I know you’re not. What’s really going on?"

Jane sighed. M using her given name was never a good sign. She was either irritated or worried sick. One look at her face and Jane could tell it was the latter.

"It’s nothing. I just—"

She had no idea how she should finish that sentence. What did she want? A James Bond at her beck and call? Perish the thought. He’d be nothing if he weren’t given the freedom to do as he pleased, and she wouldn’t be responsible for taming the man that he was. But did that mean that she had no place in his life? Probably, and that thought stung.

She watched M rise from her chair and circle around the desk, a world of sympathy and commiseration written on her face. She pulled Jane to her feet and enveloped her in a warm hug.

"For what it’s worth," M said as they pulled back, "I think this Bond is the best of them, your father notwithstanding."

"Thank you," Jane said.

She was surprised by M’s sentimentality. She’d berated herself endlessly after the whole Vesper Lynd debacle, thinking that perhaps this Bond didn’t have it in him to be 007. Jane had known he had what it took, but she wasn’t going to tell her boss that. It would seem the old girl knew already.

"Why don’t you take the day, hmmm?" M said, cupping her cheek. "You’ve more than earned it."

"After I just got back from two weeks away?" Jane asked incredulously. "Villiers will kill me."

"He's your assistant as much as mine, not the bloody Marquis de Sade," M reminded her. "You just go home and open a nice bottle of wine and order some dinner from Angelo’s. It’ll all look better in the morning."

Jane looked at her suspiciously. M _never_ gave anyone the day off. When she worked, everyone worked.

"What are you up to, M?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Taking care of you as your parents asked me to. Now go. Villiers can handle whatever’s left on your desk." M smiled, but it slid from warmly affectionate to feral in a heartbeat, and for a moment, Jane was gleeful. "And I’ll handle _him_ , don’t worry."

Jane was still suspicious, but it was clear M was having none of it, so she simply nodded her assent and headed out. It was best not to argue with her when she was determined. It didn’t ever end well.

~o~

James stood at the balcony, admiring the view over the city he loved so well. His only regret in the work he’d chosen was the amount of time he was forced to spend away from England, and London in particular. It couldn’t be helped, though, and he consoled himself with the knowledge that once the work was done, he could always come home.

 _Home to an empty flat_ , he thought with a grimace.

That had never been an issue for him before, but he was surprised to find that it was now. He’d always enjoyed living alone, being able to come and go as he pleased. He was fastidious to the point of neurosis, but it wasn’t about dishes in the sink or laundry on the floor. It was more about having a place to retreat to when it all became too much. He liked the solitude, and the chance to be at no one’s beck and call.

But ever since his encounter with Moneypenny, he’d felt a keen sense of—not loneliness, per se. He was never that. But a sense of his alone-ness, perhaps. And a recognition of the fact that the work might not be enough to fill his life anymore.

He’d never been the sort to go in for the fairy tale, but having someone to come home to at the end of a long mission was more appealing than he’d realized.

That thought was punctuated by the sound of the safety being released on a Walther PPK.

"I shouldn’t think you’d like to shoot your guest, Ms. Moneypenny," he said dismissively.

"Damn it, James," he heard her mutter before the sound of the safety being reengaged reached his ears.

He turned around to find her standing in her living room, several feet from the doors to the balcony, still dressed in her work suit but without her shoes, oddly. She was still holding the Walther, but loosely by her side, as if she were waiting for an indication of whether or not he was friend or foe.

"You look like hell."

She smirked. "You do know how to sweep a girl off her feet, don’t you?"

He leaned back against the railing, tucking his hands into his pockets in as unstudied a pose as he could manage while his heart tried valiantly to beat right out of his chest. Even after a long day, with her hair not-quite-so-neatly pulled back and her suit jacket tossed aside, she was beautiful.

"Would you rather I lie?" he asked, smirking himself. "I’ve never lied to you before, but I supposed there’s a first time for everything."

"No," she said, sighing as she dropped her gun on the coffee table and made her way out to the balcony. She stood beside him, looking out at the view he’d been so recently admiring, gripping the railing as if her life depended on it. "What are you doing here, James?"

He looked down at his shoes, suddenly finding them interesting. "I’m sorry I had to run out on you. I was recalled rather suddenly."

"Not so suddenly that you didn’t have time to stop for breakfast," she said.

He could hear the slight accusatory tone in her voice, and felt guilty all over again. What could he say? He hadn’t wanted to leave, but he’d been left no choice. And seeing her curled up in her bed, sleeping peacefully, well, he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. So, he’d compromised and left word with the baker. He’d hoped she wouldn’t hold it against him. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

She sighed. "I’m sorry. That was uncalled for."

"But not undeserved," he said. "I could have woken you, but you looked like you needed the sleep."

She ghosted a smile as she glanced at him. "Thank you for that. It’s more honest than most men would have been."

"I’m not most men," he said, meeting her gaze.

"No," she said on a sigh as she turned away. "You’re not."

He turned to face her, picking up her hand and lacing their fingers together. "You wouldn’t want me to be like other men, I suspect."

"Doesn’t mean I don’t wish—"

When she didn’t go on, he reached out and caressed her cheek, turning her to face him. "You wish what?" She tried to turn away again, but he was having none of it. "Tell me," he whispered.

She stubbornly kept her peace, so he did the only thing he could. He leaned forward slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away should she choose. When she didn’t, he pressed his lips to hers, just a barely-there caress. She swayed into him just a bit, drawing a smile to the lips still connected to hers.

Tugging her hand, he pulled her body flush with his, enveloping her in his arms as he slanted his lips over hers, brushing his tongue over her lower lip, seeking entry. Her lips parted under his, and he dove in.

Kissing Jane Moneypenny was like kissing a girl for the first time in the school yard. He felt lightheaded and giddy as his tongue swept through her mouth, seeking out the taste and feel of her, reveling in the warm, velvet heat he found. And she wasn’t just another wallflower either, he was pleased to note. She was meeting him measure for measure, giving as good as she got. It was exhilarating in a way that no kiss had been in far too long.

But just as soon as it started, it was over. She pulled back, both of them gasping for air.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, searching his eyes, for what he couldn’t guess. "Did M send you?"

"I'm doing this because I want to," he said, stating what he thought was fairly obvious.

He leaned back in, intent on tasting more of her sweet kisses, but she placed a hand on his chest, pushing back ever so gently.

"Don’t," she whispered.

"Don’t what?"

"I don’t want to be a toy for you, James," she said. He could hear the pain it caused her to say this, but when he opened his mouth to rebut, she placed a finger across his lips. "Why are you doing this?" she asked again. "Is it because you know now that I’m an operative, and somehow that makes me worthy of you?"

He took her hand, placing a kiss on the finger so recently against his lips. "I will admit that learning that you are a fully-trained operative has changed my perspective on you. But," he said, laying his own finger over her lips when she made to reply, "that isn’t why I’m here."

"Then why?" she asked as he withdrew his finger. "Why now? It’s not as if I’ve changed at all. I’m still Dear Ms. Moneypenny. Still M’s aide."

"Oh, but you’re so much more than you realize," he said. "You know me, the real me, not some alias that I wear like a winter coat. I’ve never hidden my real face from you. And knowing that you understand who I am and what I do… I never realized before just how much I needed that."

"Oh, James," she said, sighing. "I’ve always known you. I just didn’t think you ever really knew me."

"And perhaps I didn’t before now," he said. "But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to."

He leaned in and captured her lips once more, drinking her in like a fine wine. When he pulled back, he noted with some smug satisfaction that she was a little glassy-eyed and slightly unsteady on her feet. He chuckled.

"What?"

"Nothing at all, dear," he said, smiling down at her.

He dove in once more, taking her lips in a searing kiss that left no doubt what his intentions were. Slowly, and with great care, he began nudging them towards her bedroom. Hair pins and clothing began falling like a bread crumb trail behind them until they tumbled into her bed, fully naked and beyond the point of no return.

They nipped, licked and sucked at each other’s bodies, learning all the little things that made the other moan and scream, and when James finally sank into Jane, he knew he wouldn’t last long at all. It was fast and unrestrained, no time for finesse or showing off. But it was also honest and unstudied. This was them, unguarded, bared to the depths of their very souls. And when they finally tumbled over the edge together, they felt the light and heat spread throughout the room.

They lay panting in each others’ arms for long minutes after, neither of them having any desire to move even to crawl under the covers.

Finally a shiver ran through Jane’s body, spurring James to pull back the covers and tuck them both inside. They settled in beside each other, Jane tucked up under his arm, her head—hair now cascading freely down her back—pillowed on his chest.

"That was…"

"Amazing?" she asked, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Astounding? Earth-shattering?"

"I can tell you’re going to be a handful, Ms. Moneypenny," he joked, dropping a kiss into her hair.

Except she wasn't Ms. Moneypenny, not really. She was Samantha Bond, though he supposed that she'd forever be Jane Moneypenny to him, as he was James Bond to her. But even with the aliases firmly in place, he knew they understood each other, saw each other for who they truly were. It warmed his heart in a way nothing had in far too long.

"It’s not always going to be this easy, is it?" she asked, breaking the silence that had settled over them.

The question was spoken so quietly that he had to strain to hear. He sighed. "No, it won’t be. We are who we are. This isn’t going to change that."

"Just lie back and think of England?" she asked, leaning back to catch his eye.

He chuckled. "Something like that." He was quiet for a moment. "You do know that none of those women will ever take your place, don’t you?"

"I know," she said. "But it’ll still be my cross to bear."

"We’ll make it work, I promise you."

"All I ask is that you don’t keep secrets," she said. "No matter how bad it is, you have to tell me."

"If I can, I will," he said.

"James, I read all your mission reports," she said, pushing up on her elbow. "There’s nothing that happens out there that I don’t already know about, so I can follow up on it if needs be. I’m talking about the rest of it. I want to know, even when it’s bad."

He leaned up and kissed her, long and slow, wondering all the while what he’d ever done to deserve such a woman. No woman had ever offered what she was now willing to give him. He found himself clinging to it like the life-preserver it was. When he pulled back, he smiled into her eyes.

"Thank you for that."

"You never answered my question," she said as she snuggled back down into his embrace.

"And which one was that?"

"Did M send you?"

He chuckled again. "She may have mentioned that you were having a hard day. I doubt she’d have said anything if she’d known what would happen. She doesn’t approve of me, I think. At least, not for her only goddaughter."

"Too bad," she said sleepily. "I’m not giving you up." She paused. "She sent me home early, you know. She never does that. She knew you’d be here. I think she approves, in her own way."

"M’s approval, hmmm," he said, closing his eyes. "Now there’s a truly frightening thought."

Jane's giggle melted off into a contented sigh as she surrendered to exhaustion.

As James followed her into sleep, he marveled at the turn his life had taken in just a couple of weeks. After everything he’d been through, finally finding contentment would take some getting used to. But for the first time in his life, he was looking forward to trying.

~Finis

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken Moneypenny's first name from _The Moneypenny Chronicles_ (obviously, her name is different in the film, and frankly, I didn't want to go through and change it in this story; it would take too long). Samantha Bond is the actress that played Moneypenny in the Pierce Brosnan films ( _Goldeneye_ , _Tomorrow Never Dies_ , _The World Is Not Enough_ , and _Die Another Day_ ).


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